


to know love

by bi_magic



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: also i love them and their relationship (or the way it is in my head lmao), and heres some pain leta probably loves newt until she dies, at least my leta does movie leta will probably be evil bc thats what slytherins are :))), i know they loved each other sm and still do, um we have seen nothing from leta but shes my fav sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_magic/pseuds/bi_magic
Summary: leta lestrange doesn't know love until she is twenty four.





	to know love

**Author's Note:**

> this portrayal of leta lestrange is more or less entirely my own, since canon has given us nothing about her just yet. I really love newt and leta and their relationship (or at least, my headcanon of it), and I really enjoyed writing this. I hope u enjoy reading it !!

leta lestrange doesn't know love until she is twenty four.

it's a cold day and she sits alone in her small flat and writes her column for the newspaper. rain pounds on her window harshly, and it takes a while for her to notice there is another knock, a different one.

she rises from her seat in one fluid, graceful motion, and opens the window for the poor, poor bird, so colorful and lively - it makes her think of warmer, far off places - who has a letter tucked between its feathers, protected from the storm. she feels bad for letting it wait outside. leta has always had more compassion for animals than for men.

"I'm so sorry," she says, closing the window and trailing a finger across soft feathers. her own owl watches from the coffee table, clearly unpleased. a small, amused smile on her face, she fetches water and some seeds for the lovely bird, and then sits down to read.

nothing is written on the envelope, except for the word "leta" in an achingly familiar handwriting.

she inhales, slow and deep, as though preparing herself for battle, before opening it.

"my dear leta," is all she manages to read before tears fill her eyes, blurring her sight. she is glad she lives alone. not many have ever truly seen her, seen who she really is - maybe only one - and she wishes to keep it that way. her exterior is all quiet confidence, a pretty girl with knowing smiles and sharp edges. no one needs to know what an ocean she is inside.

newt is in africa, she knows, probably researching one magical creature or another. her heart swells that he thought to write to her. she makes another attempt at reading his letter, but his handwriting reminds her of too much.

they're blurry pictures, faded memories and nothing more. fingers ghosting on her cheekbone, pushing her hair behind her ear; a scent of honey and grass and something else, inexplicable, pure, something only newt had ever smelled like; broad smiles and wild laughter on the background of a setting sun behind the lake; teeth biting into a bottom lip, concentration shining within green eyes in the torchlight as they scan over lines and lines of her handwriting. hogwarts was a magical time. but only because newt had made it so.

something within her, something dark and aggressive, wants to crumple his letter. it's something that doesn't like the moisture in her eyes; doesn't like how her heart beats and cries and throbs at the mere sight of his handwriting. 

but leta would never. so she wipes her eyes and reads.

newt's letter is all in-length descriptions of magical places and beasts they had only ever dared to dream of. how she envies him, for being out there. she envies him and she's proud of him and she misses him so.

he ends the letter with "whenever anything happens, the first thing I want to do is tell you. I would write every single day if I could. I'm sorry for being so absent; it's simply that all of my free time is spent wishing you were here. love, newt."

leta wishes she could say it doesn't make her cry.

holding the letter close to her chest, she curls around herself in her dark green couch and lets her tears fall into her hair like pearls.

she thinks of the boy she met at hogwarts: the boy with the messy hair and the crooked grin and the terrible jokes, brimming with curiosity and adventure and gentleness, shining with a soft sort of light she thought before to only belong to stars and suns. she thinks of the boy she's met at hogwarts, and how he's changed, and how he hasn't changed at all.

leta lestrange has looked love in the face when she was eleven. twenty four is when she realizes.


End file.
